


upped inside and on the rise

by trykynyx



Series: reasons much older than silver [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trykynyx/pseuds/trykynyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison doesn't actually remember seeing Erica that first day.</p><p>(Scenes from Slytherin!Allison&Erica's first year, with relevant flashbacks/flashforwards.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	upped inside and on the rise

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the 'verse belong to me. (Also I haven't written real fic in _years_.)
> 
> I spared everyone involved from butchered attempts at UK-vernacular/terminology. I could not spare anyone from my inability to write anything other than ~snapshots~.
> 
> Title from "Anodyne" by Anno Birkin.

Erica was ten when she was Bitten, waiting out her parents' drunken argument in the backyard. There isn't much more to say about it, as far as she's concerned. She'd screamed, cried, and the monstrous thing that had leaped on top of her must have had bigger and better things to do because she's waiting on the couch downstairs for her Werewolf-Witch Mentor to show up.

If she hadn't had to spend the past nine full moons tearing up the basement, the whole thing would seem crazy.

She's got a well-worn New Mutants comic open on her lap and damn it if she doesn't love Wolfsbane. 'I'm drowning in cliches,' she thinks, and tries to ignore how empty the house is. Magic was apparently the straw that broke her parents' back-- they spend most of their time in the bar down the street.

There's a loud knock at the door and Erica jumps up like she hasn't been waiting for a better part of an hour. She knows she's scruffy-looking, hair unbrushed and clothes a couple of sizes too big, but she throws her head and shoulders back anyway. 

Naturally, the girl who answers the door is _perfect_ \-- long limbs, light brown hair and 100% rocker-awesome. Erica wonders if she can put in for a replacement, preferably someone middle-aged and balding.

"Hey," the girl says with a smile that is too knowing to be fair, "I'm Laura Hale."

 

\---

 

Laura drags her off to Diagon Alley without saying too much of anything.

"Better to keep these things among our own," she says, and Erica just knows you can't throw around words like "werewolf" without getting some weird looks. They end up in a grungy restaurant with sticky booths and Laura sprawls out with a cup of milk with coffee.

"So," she says, "How bad are your Turnings?" Erica chokes on her Coke.

"I know, I know, it's awkward. But trust me, I know what I'm talking about." She pushes back one of her sleeves to reveal a tell-tale scar on her shoulder.

"When?" Erica asks. She's never met anyone like her before. Laura gulps down half her coffee. 

"Ten years ago, got me and my family while we were out camping." She shrugs, like it wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to her.

There's a man with moving tattoos whirling up and down his right arm on the other side of the room. Erica thinks she sees something with teeth. She swallows and rips her napkin in half.

"They're pretty bad." She does her best not to look at Laura looking at her.

"What if I told you they didn't have to be?" Hope doesn't sit all that well with Erica, never has. 

"I'd ask what you've been smoking."

Laura laughs, and her face is open.

"You should meet my brother Derek, you'd like him."

 

\--- 

 

Allison doesn't actually remember seeing Erica that first day. She must have, for a moment at least, but there was too much happening to notice a girl she didn't know.

She'd been the first one sorted into Slytherin that year, and her cousin was the most popular (read: feared) prefect in the House. The noise had been impressive. Kate gestures her over excitedly with a smile that's all teeth, and Allison feels very young and silly next to her.

Everyone around is quick to pat her back, welcome her; Kate sniggers under her breath. Allison feels like she may blush her way right out of existence.

The rest of the Sorting passes in a blur, and she starts at the sound of silverware on plates. Kate jostles her with her shoulder, and Allison remembers why she's her favorite relative.

"Well, your mother is going to be thrilled," Kate says, and she's right. Victoria Argent came from a long line of Slytherins, had been Head Girl in her time and loved the House deeply. Allison picks at her nails and grins-- her mother would be proud of her.

"Don't feel _too_ special though," Kate says, voice pitched lower. "The Sorting Hat might not know it, but everyone else sure does: us Argents are valuable commodities. Don't forget, we're a bunch of wily assholes over here."

They look at each other and Allison knows what she's saying: don't trust anyone but blood. It's not a new concept-- she knows that her family name is an old one, that her people have a knack for ending up on the right side of things, which means they're often getting recruited for one thing or another. The only way you get through is by sticking with your own. She smiles and nods because she knows how to live by this code.

 

\---

 

She takes a deep breath, feels the weight of the Sorting Hat on her head, and tries to stay calm. Sure, she knew it would happen, but she full-body jerks when the Hat's voice rings through her head.

_Hmmm, dear, you could really go a few ways… Very versatile, yes…_

She swallows hard and waits. It seems like bad manners to interrupt.

_Anything I should know, child? Anything you'd like me to take under consideration?_

Allison honestly can't think of anything, can barely remember her own name.

 _Calm down, calm down. I suppose I--_  

And she panics, convinced she's missing an opportunity.

 _No, no wait_ , she thinks. _I want-- I want to feel_ powerful.

There's a laugh in her head. 

 _Yes, I thought so_.

 

\---

 

Erica doesn't say much on the train so she and Derek sit in silence watching the world whip by. Laura was off doing whatever it was Gryffindor prefects do and Cora had bailed as soon as her parents were out of sight-- so much for first year solidarity. 

She's double- and triple-checked her bag to make sure she's got the two emergency doses she always carries with her, but Erica can't shake the anxiety that makes her insides clench painfully. She tells herself it's because she didn't eat enough this morning and doesn't think about her parents (or how they haven't looked at her in months, even though she hasn't done anything but howl pitifully in her room for two full moons).

She watches her fingers tremor delicately against the window and wishes the not-quite-cure didn't make her feel so _weak_.

"You'll be fine," Derek says out of nowhere. Erica whips her head to look at him, but he's frowning at his book like he hadn't said anything at all.

It's stupid that she feels a little better.

 

\---

 

Slytherin breaks off from the other Houses just outside the Great Hall, barely slowing to gather bewildered first years.

"They'll catch on," one of Kate's friends says, and ushers Allison deeper into the middle of the crowd. It's a nice gesture, and helpful-- they go down more staircases (stationary and otherwise) than Allison can keep track of, and double back at least twice.

The deeper into the castle they go, the colder and damper it gets. It makes her feel like she's part of something big and dangerous.

They stop in front of a blank wall and Kate calls out "Thalassa," with a wiggle of her eyebrows because she's always been a bit theatrical. The wall slides open, and considering everything, Allison really shouldn't be too surprised.

It takes her a second to figure out why the light is green and swirling.

"Now _that's_ cool," someone says behind her, like moving staircases and magically-appearing food had all been second-rate tricks.

Allison can't help but agree though: living underneath a lake is _pretty cool_.

 

\---

 

They're sitting in a dark corner of a bar in Biarritz, reminiscing and taking a break from the hot summer sun, when Erica busts out laughing so hard the bartender gives them A Look.

"Oh God," she wheezes, forehead almost touching the table "I'm alright, I'll be alright." 

Allison stares at her, mouth half-open. "What?" she laughs.

Erica finally looks up at her, and if Allison's chest contracts strangely, well, that's no one else's business.

"Allison, that was _me_."

"Wha--"

"Me! _I'm_ the one that said the Common Room was cool! _I am the disembodied voice of truth_."

The lock eyes for about half a second before they're howling with laughter and falling out of their chairs. Somehow they end up holding hands.

"So, basically, we kind of met the first day." 

"The hell we did, you're not off the hook that easy. I don't think you even _spoke_ to me until after Halloween."

 

\---

 

The problem with Kate taking her under her wing is, well, _being under Kate's wing_. 

As far as she's concerned, Allison has no need to associate with the lesser members of Slytherin (which immediately eliminates everyone in years one through three, and half of everyone else). Unfortunately, Allison doesn't have class with anyone Kate calls an "up-and-comer" which leaves her, more often than not, sitting alone. 

It's not terrible. A couple of harsh shut-downs by Kate (she reminds a few first years that were trying to cozy up to Allison whose side their families were on during the War, and they slink right off) and people learn that the Argent circle is invitation-only. No one is stupid enough to give her any trouble and, really, it's not that bad. Class is class is class, and she tells herself it wouldn't be any more fun with someone at her elbow. She tells herself Kate knows best. She doesn't quite believe it, but she resigns herself.

So, when a red-haired girl sits next to her one day in Potions and shoves her things back across the halfway-line of the desk, Allison doesn't quite know what to do.  

"I-- Uh."  

"Are all of you Slytherins as sleazy as Whittemore, or is he just special?" She's got one of those faces that says she's used to getting what she wants. 

"No," she says, "I mean, he's definitely just special." And she's not lying-- Jackson climbed to the top of the first year social ladder by flashing way too much money and attitude for an eleven year old.

"Well," the girl sniffs, straightens her blue and bronze tie ."I'm switching partners." Allison gets the impression she doesn't have a say in the matter; she sticks out her hand, a little giddy. 

"Allison Argent."

"Lydia Martin."

 

\---

 

Erica had honestly expected everything to be going a better than it was. She'd been happy with Slytherin (ambition and cleverness sounded pretty good to her), even if Laura had teased her about it. 

But the shakes got worse. It got so bad sometimes she could barely hold a quill, and she's broken two ink wells already and it's only halfway through October. Between that and her mysterious monthly visits to the Infirmary, she's not exactly swimming in friends (there's a running joke about anemia due to blood loss, and Erica doesn't understand how a hypothetical period from hell is a punch line, but there you go). Laura can't do much more than gesture helplessly.

"I told you there could be side effects, and isn't it better than the alternative? I mean-- I haven't slept more than three hours at a time for years. You're just gonna have to tough it out."

Derek grunts in what may be sympathy, but could just as well have something to do with the chicken he's eating. Erica likes him, but he needs an intensive course in effective communication.

 

\---

 

The thing about working with Lydia is that you're always going to get the highest marks, but your pride will most likely take a hit. 

Allison has always considered herself a fairly smart girl, but you try sitting next to Lydia 'I'm Better Than The Professor' Martins in Potions and not get knocked down a peg or two. She's not bitter so much as blown away-- how can a first year be _that good_.  

Lydia shrugs, tosses some hair over her shoulder. 

"My parents were all about pre-Hogwarts enrichment. I've got all the high-end starter Potions kits at home."  And sure, enrichment makes sense, Allison's mom used to quiz her on dinner guests she was expecting ("You think I got where I am in the Ministry by being nice?").

"Ah," she says, and then takes cover when their cauldron makes a noise like a firing cannon. She peeks up to see Lydia preening over their assignment while half the class picks themselves off the floor. Professor Harris stalks over, clearly working himself up to a tear-inducing rant. 

"What on--" he starts, before Lydia thrusts a sample vial of bright orange Bat Bite Balm at him.

"I used the updated formula from the Ministry's Medicinal Pamphlet," she says primly. "I assumed you just forgot to write up the _correct_ directions on the board."

The stare-down that follows makes Allison feel like she should send someone to the infirmary before Harris blows a blood vessel. Lydia's got her tiny fists balled in her lap and Professor Harris is about two seconds away from cracking the glass vial in his hands. 

Finally, he leans back and adjusts his glasses. He looks like he wants to drown them both in the cauldron, and Allison's pretty sure he's twisted enough to do it. The rest of the class waits. 

"Ms. Martin," he bites out, "Your enthusiasm for innovation never ceases to amaze." On his way back to the front of the room, he manages to dole out three detentions.

Lydia smoothes out the pleats of her pristine skirt beneath the desk. Allison starts to clean up their workspace, biting the inside of her mouth to keep from grinning.

"You are my hero, Lydia Martin."

 

\---

 

The thing with magic is there's some kinds that sit just right in your bones. Erica's better than average in Defense Against, and History of Magic is easy because their textbook reads like a corner-store fantasy novel, but her blood _zings_ when she Transfigures something.

They'd started out small, a pebble into a seashell, and she wasn't the first to get it, but she strutted up to the professor's desk like she was. McGonagall turns the tiny thing over in her hand and places it next to the other students'. She gives Erica a look and an 'O' and Erica smiles because her shell is the color of milk on the outside and rose-petal pink and glistening within-- as real as could be.

She walks away and for the first time in a while her back is straight.

'Transformative,' she thinks, and smiles wider.

 

\---

 

Erica dreams about her first Turning for the first time in months. She remembers how her bones felt sharp beneath her skin, how she couldn't see straight. It's like she's back home in her kitchen, trying to figure out why the world was spinning. 

Everything is too bright and too loud and she calls for her parents--they're not home and she knows it, but she calls just the same. Her head feels like it's going to explode and she's just so _angry_.

Somehow she's outside, and the part of her that's already lived this, that's dreaming, wants to scream. She doesn't feel right-- her _body_ doesn't feel right-- and she's doubled over in the alley by the trashcans when she sees something moving. 

It's Precious, the alley cat she's been feeding on and off since she was seven, only she doesn't feel like she should about the mangy tabby. Where there should have been a rush of affection there was only a burning in her gut and she just wants to _tear_ \--

Erica throws herself out of the dream and out of her bed with such force the whole frame shudders. She dry heaves because she remembers the way it felt to tear a tiny body apart with her own hands.

"Hey," someone whispers nearby. "Hey, you alright?"

"Why don't you mind your own business?" she hisses and crawls back into bad, covered in goosebumps and sweat. 

 

\---

 

Allison rolls her eyes and tries to get comfortable again. Wake her up in the middle of the night and then cop an attitude? _Fine_. She falls asleep thinking about how she can't put a name to the voice.

 

 


End file.
